Tuesday, August 2, 2011


I want to see you laugh
With the power and emotion
Of echoes in a canyon,
A thousand miles deep

I want to see you cry
With the gutting desperation
That chokes our throats with teardrops
And shakes our bodies
Like stunning earthquakes

And I want to see you smile
With the glowing joy
Of a string of bulbs
Reflecting off of a shattered mirror
Like music screams our deepest thoughts

For I just want to know
That you feel, too,
The things I do
Please let me feel your heartbeat
So I know you're a human, too.

Fresh As Youth

I wrote this in the back seat of a pick-up truck, driving through Norcal with a handful of my siblings. The beauty of nature was overpowering, and the joy I felt so tangibly inspired this poem.

I step outside
A foggy box;
A slate-grey state of mind
And on this pavement
I rest my feet,
With pulsing, hot sun
Soaking my soul
As I breathe in the air
Of this day, fresh as youth
With the spirit of green,
Bright twigs on a tall tree
Like a weeping willow wilts
Under sad, sea-foam air
I can touch the clouds
With a sweep of my paintbrush
And I can sing a lullaby
To comfort all the stars
Burning under pressure
Of an endless font
Of midnight blue
Threatening to swallow
Their tiny, blazing bulbs

For in this moment,
I am free
Of the pressures
Of my whole life's roads;
Stop signs fade
To endless streets
That stretch beyond
The slender sprouts,
Fields of wheat
That nourish my heart
And blades of grass
That I walk on for balance
Today I am empty
Today I am full
With nothing more
Than a bright, bright soul
I sparkle like a diamond
I shine like a comet
And now I am one
With this day,
Fresh as youth.

Christmas Lights

The familiar feeling
That cuts like a knife
Of being nearby but not needed
And being available
But not wanted
Of wanting so desperately
To feel
Just a little
That I am making
A tiny difference
In the lives of
My loved ones
I feel like
Christmas lights in July;
Stashed up in the attic-
Irrelevant, forgotten.

My Soul

If my soul were a place
I think it would be
A warm, sunny meadow,
Lush with tall flowers
Of amber and violet
And scarlet and turquoise
And smelling of roses
With paper-thin butterflies
Flying in comfort
And peaceful, at ease
And then on the sides
There'd be inlets much cooler
Heavy with moisture
And chilling with cold
Weeping willows would hang
Drooping with heartache
With cold drops of dew
Dripping like tears
A hammock would sway
And a wind chime would sing,
Softly and sadly,
Melancholy with grief
But always nearby,
The meadow lies ready
To warm up the cool
Of the willow's deep cold.